


the middle spot

by bloodandcream



Series: The more the merrier [77]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Bottom Castiel, Facials, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Human Castiel in the Bunker, M/M, Morning Sex, Multi, Naked Cuddling, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: It is a matter of life, at this point, that the middle is Castiel’s spot, and so it is with no trepidation that he insinuates himself between them.





	

It doesn’t seem to matter which side of the bed Castiel falls asleep on. The wall-side that faces an overflowing hamper and a dresser - this side is usually Sam’s. Or the door facing side with the permanently cluttered desk - this side is usually Dean’s. Castiel figures that he doesn’t have a side, because he always ends up in the middle.

Both sides of the bed tend to dip towards the middle anyway, no matter where on the bed the three or two or one of them are crowded.

So it is with no surprise that Castiel, who had fallen asleep in a semi-upright position against the headboard on the wall side of the bed, wakes up smooshed between the press of Sam and Dean in the middle non-side of the bed.

Although Dean had been loathe to retire his old memory-foam mattress, they had years ago decided that two pushed together mattresses would not suffice. It had been slowly and without fanfare that Castiel, human and weak, had been folded into life at the bunker. But getting a new bed, now, that had been a process.

It may not be a memory foam mattress, but it is a pillow top and apparently there are sides of the bed appropriate to various seasons of the year, and it must be flipped twice each year. Sam had informed him that this would help prolong the life of the bed.

Yet the dip in the middle made itself known within years.

That’s alright. Castiel likes the way that it draws the Winchesters closer to him. It’s easier to sink into the dip than to hang off the edge of the bed.

Sam, on his back with one leg thrown over Castiel’s thigh and one arm spread underneath the pillows, snores softly. Castiel wakes, today like most days, with his face in the vicinity of an armpit. Scooting upward, he settles his head on Sam’s broad chest and lets the strong heartbeat therein lull him back into a hazy almost-sleep.

Dean, for his part, whines softly when Castiel pulls away to lay on Sam’s chest instead of in his armpit, and there’s soon an arm thrown over Castiel’s waist as Dean curls along his back. Snugged up close, warm and guileless, Castiel tries very hard to fall back asleep.

Sam and Dean say that he is not a morning person, which is completely untrue. Castiel loves mornings, in particular he loves mornings with the Winchesters, but he is not fond of spending mornings outside of their bed in the bunker. Motel mornings, mornings ruled by the alarm clock and a stack of research, mornings fraught with lingering wounds or the slights of tender hearts, Castiel is not fond of those mornings.

Without any windows or any alarm clocks, he could spend the entirety of a day as a morning in bed and be perfectly content.

This morning, Dean wakes up before Sam. He snorts as he wakes, rubs his nose along the back of Castiel’s neck, and his fingers curl tight then relax where they are splayed over Sam’s exposed belly. Sheets rumpled around his waist, Sam usually ends up with barely a strip of blanket across his mid-section, running hot in his sleep. Castiel prefers the sheets up to his shoulder. Dean seems to think that one of him or Sam makes for a decent blanket.

There’s an erection pressed against the small of Castiel’s back.

Even after years of being allowed to have this, a warm pulsing knot contracts in his stomach with the sheer want that Dean’s erection incites. Humming, Castiel cants his hips back against it.

His own hand resting on Sam’s chest trails lower, bumps over the ridges of Dean’s knuckles then along the lines of abs that are still - much to Dean’s chagrin - prominent. Beneath the mess of tangled sheets, Sam’s morning erection - why it is referred to as ‘wood’ has always stumped Castiel, as it reminds of splinters - and soon Dean’s hand joins Castiel at lazily fondling Sam awake.

Hips pushing up once, twice, Sam tenses and pulls his arm out from underneath the pillows, rubs the back of his hand against his eyes and groans. Stretching, he jostles Castiel and yawns.

“I gotta pee,” is the first thing he announces.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean says.

Castiel could hold his bladder for hours if it meant staying inside the warm cocoon of their bed.

The air is cold as Sam lifts the blankets and rises, stands up naked and glorious and raises his arms above his head, flattening his palms against the ceiling and stretching in a way that shows off his erection at attention in front of him. Of course, he watches them watching him as he does so, then smiles softly and leaves for the bathroom.

So Castiel turns around, face to face with Dean, and gets a hand on his cock.

Breath sour and skin damp with sweat, Dean is always beautiful in the morning. Castiel thumbs gently at the bit of crust in the corner of his eye.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

Is what Dean tells him.

Castiel answers with a kiss, fingertips lingering on the freckle smattered curve of his cheek.

Sliding a thigh between Dean’s, Castiel brings their bodies flush and Dean squeezes a hand on his hip then starts rutting against him. Slow, aimless, they occupy themselves with soft touches under cotton sheets still around their shoulders until Sam comes back.

“Okay, my turn.”

Dean rolls over and stands, pulling on his robe before leaving. The bed dips as Sam gets in his wall-side and loops an arm around Castiel’s waist, dragging him to the other side of the bed and rutting against the crease of his ass.

Clutching the warm blankets to keep them around his chest at least, Castiel folds one leg up towards his chest and rocks his hips back. Sam’s mouth is hot against the curve of his shoulder, teeth nipping with morning gentleness at the base of his neck. A calloused hand grips around his cock and Castiel presses his face to the mattress, low groan slipping out as Sam huffs and shoves harder against Castiel’s backside.

Sex would be good. A handjob, just humping, anything really. Castiel is not picky, especially not in the morning when easier is generally better. But the brothers have a good point in insisting on relieving themselves first. Stubbornly, Castiel continues to lay pliant in Sam’s hold when Dean comes back. But as Dean scoots himself close to Castiel’s front, a barely-grazed knee to the stomach convinces him that yes, unfortunately, getting out of bed is necessary.

“I’ll be just a minute,” he tells them, crawling over Dean to the door-side.

The soft fleece lined slippers that wait at that side of the bed are protection against chilly floor tiles, but that’s all that he slips on to shuffle out to the bathroom.

It had been something of a debate, at first, as to whether teeth should be brushed first thing in the morning or after breakfast. Castiel is a fan of first thing in the morning, Sam and Dean of post-breakfast brushing. Although he doesn’t mind kissing them first thing in the morning without brushing, once he is in the bathroom and washing his hands, Castiel feels the need to brush his teeth.

He is simply too awake at this point to ignore it.

And so it is, with bladder empty and mouth minty fresh, that he returns to their bedroom to find the sheets puddled off the foot of the bed, Sam sucking a hickey into Dean’s neck and both brothers with their hands on each other’s cocks.

It is a matter of life, at this point, that the middle is Castiel’s spot, and so it is with no trepidation that he insinuates himself between them.

“Mm, morning sunshine,” Dean greets him, flipping Castiel so that his back is to Dean and front to Sam.

“Sleep well?” Sam asks.

“Yes, I had a strange dream about our library here, but I forget it already.”

“If you write your dreams down right away, you’ll remember them better,” Sam tells him.

“Fuck that,” is Dean’s opinion, hands too busy on Castiel’s body to be writing down anything and Castiel agrees that yes, this is a much better use of one’s hands first thing in the morning.

Cupping the back of his head, Sam brings Castiel closer to kiss him, mouth devouring far too eagerly for this time of morning, in Castiel’s opinion. Sam always does wake up energetic. Castiel is happy to let him have his way. Dean slides a hand down his thigh, lifts it and Castiel rests his leg over top of Sam’s.

One arm folded against his chest and the other draped over Sam’s waist, Castiel remains as inevitable as the dip in the middle-spot while he draws the two of them in.

The bed jostles when Dean leans away, smacks something off the side table before an ‘aha’ and he’s back against Castiel, slick fingers dragging between his legs.

“Still loose, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

And he is, oh, Castiel doesn’t think he could be anything but loose with Sam and Dean’s sexual appetites to satisfy. Several fingers easy, Dean twists to the last knuckle and Castiel shivers to the tips of his toes.

Sam pulls his lip between teeth, biting none too gentle, blunt fingernails scratching the back of his neck. Hips hitching forward into Sam’s grip, back onto Dean’s fingers, Castiel squeezes the firm muscle of Sam’s back and holds on.

Hot forehead rested between his shoulder blades, Dean curls away then back again, body against Castiel in points, cock sliding easily home. All of their legs tangled, soft-haired and long-limbed, Castiel sighs and reaches his hand back to grope for Dean’s shoulder.

Sam shifts, mouths down along his neck and sucks soft morning hellos into his skin that will bloom bruises like flowers greeting the sun, and Castiel sighs. Shuffling closer, Sam lifts onto an elbow and presses his stomach, his cock, along Castiel’s front. Massive hand between them, large enough to take them both in one, Sam rolls along his front and leans over Castiel’s shoulder to kiss from his skin to Dean’s.

It is easy to be overwhelmed when it comes to them.

Somehow, with Sam up on an elbow and kissing Dean over his shoulder, Castiel finds that his face is pressed again near Sam’s armpit. It is heady. Hot and damp and intoxicatingly masculine in the scent. Leaning forward, chest half pressed to the bed as Dean drapes across him further, Castiel grunts with every deep slow drag shove of Dean’s cock and every sinuous sweat slicked wave of Sam’s body, pushed and pulled between them.

Both arms folded beneath him and hands clutching desperately at the sheets, Castiel comes breathless and Sam eases, squeezes from root to tip dragging out even more wetness as Dean’s hips stutter and snap against Castiel’s backside.

Wet and warm and morning hazy, comfortable in it’s intimacy, Castiel is utterly lax as Dean finishes inside him, as Sam pulls up to his knees and fists his cock in front of Castiel’s face.

His own come is dripping off, but Castiel opens his mouth against the blood-swollen tip, tongue out and he blinks sleepily as Sam presses inside just a little, hand moving fast and eyes shuttering as his hair falls across his face and he comes thickly into Castiel’s mouth, out of the corners, striping his cheek.

“Jesus, Sammy.”

Dean strokes a hand soothingly up Castiel’s side, down and curious between his legs, feather light. Sam huffs and settles back onto his ass, pulling Castiel into his lap. Rolling onto his back, head pillowed on Sam’s rock hard thigh, Castiel swallows and slides a hand down through the mess on his hairy belly to cup his soft cock.

Leaning over, Dean kisses him. Licks into his mouth, filthy, then laps his brother’s come off Castiel’s sex-flushed cheeks.

Fingers tangling in his hair, Sam presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead and straightens his long limbs out. “Want to join me for my jog?” he asks.

Some mornings, the answer is yes. Usually, it is no. Castiel likes jogging. But he appreciates mornings the best from the warmth of bed.

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Castiel tells him.

“I’m gonna make a whole fucking pan of bacon,” Dean announces.

Sam reaches across Castiel and shoves his brother.

“I might go back to sleep,” Castiel mumbles.

“Okay.” Sam says, rising and rifling through the dresser for his sinfully tiny jogger’s shorts.

“Bring me bacon,” Castiel tells Dean, curling against his soft chest.

“Dude, if I bring you breakfast in bed, you won’t get out until lunch.”

“Mm.”

Eventually, Dean kisses him and rises, minutes after Sam has laced up his sneakers and gone.

And Castiel, stubborn, remains comfortably in the middle spot of the bed.


End file.
